


Bite That Tattoo On Your Shoulder

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Forced Orgasm, Guilt, Hotel Sex, M/M, Mattress sex, Memories, Oral Sex, Reunion Sex, Revenge Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-09 18:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8906305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: Four years no callsnow you're looking pretty in a hotel bar-Four years after Eames left Arthur without a word of farewell, Arthur runs into him again in a hotel bar.





	

Arthur has always assumed Eames would end up like this, but it’s one thing to imagine your ex-partner sitting in a dimly lit hotel bar in a button-down and worn out jeans cruising for a hookup, and another to actually see it happen.

 _Ex-partner, ex-boyfriend, ex-Eames_ , Arthur thinks viciously. _Ex-Eames is right._

Four years and nothing, no calls, no letters (Eames _can_ write, Arthur’s seen him, there's nothing preventing him from writing), no texts, no emails, no coded missives, nothing. Perhaps this would have been easier to take had it not been proceeded by regular bouts of really good sex, lengthy conversations about everything and the universe, continuous pet names and occasional declarations of affection. Affection, mind you, not necessarily love. Arthur can tell the difference.

That difference may have contributed to the general drinking, and the three vodka tonics he’s already ordered tonight as a matter of rote. Routines were to Arthur as lines were to graph paper. Eames said that once.

He had said it while they were in bed, with Arthur insisting on finishing his research before they had sex. In the end they had compromised, Eames had gone down on him while Arthur continued working. This compromise was not repeated. It was all too easy for Arthur to get swept up in Eames’s charm and he needed to get his research done.

If anything the last four years have taught Arthur that routines were good. You could count on things with routine, unlike people. He ordered a fourth vodka tonic and looked back at the man sitting at the far end of the bar.

It’s definitely Eames. Eames in those damn jeans that Arthur knows exactly how soft they would be, and a tan collar shirt with exactly three buttons undone, revealing a faded pink t-shirt underneath. The collar is frayed and the shirt isn’t tucked in. He’s scruffy, two days of no shaving is Arthur’s assessment and he’s smoking while nursing a whiskey with soda.

He’s unbearably beautiful. Arthur can hardly stand looking at him.

Eames is also most definitely looking for a hookup. It might have been four years but Arthur knows what Eames looks like when he’s on the prowl and this is it. His body language from the slouch of his shoulders to the wide slant of his legs against the bar, means Eames is looking for sex. But not just sex, Arthur realizes after a further few moments of examination. Eames is being picky for some reason.

It takes Arthur a few more minutes to realize the situation is both more complicated and more simple than that. Eames is looking for sex, but he’s also looking for a mark. Arthur takes a sip of his drink and lets himself just think about the fact that his ex is selling himself in a hotel bar in downtown Phoenix, Arizona.

_How fucking desperate do you have to be?_

He looks at his watch. It’s early yet. His appointment isn’t until ten the next morning. He just came in here for a drink, he wasn’t expecting this and then after all these years without warning, there’s Eames.

He catches the waiter’s eye and the waiter heads over to him. “What can I get you?”

“Another of these.” Arthur holds up his glass. “And will you send two shots of your best whiskey to the man sitting at the end of the bar?”

“Any message?”

“Tell him the gentleman at the corner table wants to know how much?”

The waiter doesn’t even blink, just nods and goes back to the bar. He gets Arthur his next drink and then delivers the whiskey to Eames. It’s Glenlivet, Arthur observes. _Not bad._

Eames straightens up a little as the waiter sets the whiskey in front of him. Arthur watches him as Eames takes in that he can’t see the man who bought him the drink without turning to acknowledge him. The waiter leans in and Arthur can tell from Eames’s subtle shift in posture that the message has been relayed.

Eames raises the drink and looks over his shoulder, ready to toast whoever’s interested in his services for the night. He pauses when he sees that it’s Arthur.

Arthur takes a sip of his vodka tonic and sets it down again. The alcohol is slowly kicking in. Over the last four years his tolerance has grown to a point that’s obscene for a person of his build, but his liver just doesn’t give a fuck. It takes a lot for Arthur to actually get drunk, but he thinks he might need to be for this.

Eames tilts the glass back, downing the double shot in one long gloriously smooth swallow.

Arthur’s tongue is dry in his mouth and his pants are too tight and he knows how this is going to go even before Eames gets up and makes his way over to him.

“Depends on what’re you in the mood for.” Eames answers the question. His eyes are dancing and his mouth is amused and Arthur wants to tell him to shut the fuck up before he’s finished speaking.

“The whole night. Anything I want.”

“Anything?” Eames places his hands on the table, leaning in to rest his weight on it as he gazes down at Arthur. His shoulders fill his shirt very handsomely indeed; Arthur can see the muscles coiled tight under there.

“Anything.” Arthur repeats.

“Five thousand.”

Arthur takes a sip of his drink. “Agreed.”

“Really?”

“Don’t think I’m good for it?”

“Oh, I know you’re good for it.” Eames is smiling now and they’re no longer talking about Arthur’s solvency here.

Arthur dearly wants to loosen his tie, but if he does that in front of Eames he might as well admit he didn’t date anyone else for a whole year after Eames left the program and the year after that he fucked anyone who would have him, anyone who wasn’t Eames.

“Shall we then?” Eames tilts his head towards the elevator. “I assume you’re staying here.”

“You’re not?” Arthur already knows this; he just wants to hear what Eames will say.

“I’ve got a car in the parking lot with all my worldly possessions tucked away in the back.” Eames’s smile deepens. “But you already guessed that, didn’t you?”

There’s the implicit ‘darling’ at the end of every sentence and Eames isn’t saying it. Eames always calls him darling, even during their fights, and if he’s not even doing that anymore, it’s really fucking over.

Who’s Arthur kidding? It was over when Eames packed up and left, leaving nothing of his behind except for a rinsed-out mug in the sink and a pair of socks tucked down behind the sofa that Arthur didn’t find until two weeks later.

Arthur finishes his drink and stands, leaving a ten for the waiter. The drinks are on his tab.

“Oh, are we going then?”

Arthur just looks at him.

Eames grins. “Lead the way.”

Arthur waits until they’re in the elevator to speak again. “Do you always charge that much?”

“Maybe I’m making an exception.” Eames leans against the wall, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“I find it hard to believe anyone would pay that much for you.” Arthur says.

“Look in the mirror.” Eames tells him.

Arthur’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

The elevator stops on the seventh floor. They walk down the hall side by side, Eames’s shoulders almost brushing into Arthur’s, but not quite.

They reach 703 and Arthur unlocks it, holding it for Eames to go in first.

Eames walks in and looks around while Arthur goes for the phone. He needs more alcohol if he’s going through with this.

“Room service, please. Yes, can I get a bottle of vodka? And a bottle of tonic to go with that? Thanks.” He hangs up.

Eames pivots to face him, waiting. He’s standing here in Arthur’s hotel room, looking like nothing’s changed at all. As though time hasn’t passed at all.

“Take your clothes off.” Arthur’s mouth is still dry.

“Just like that? No preliminary flattery? No, how have you been, Eames? No, it’s nice to see you, Eames?” Eames reaches for the buttons that aren’t undone already. “Nothing?”

“I’m not paying to flirt with you.” Arthur leans against the dresser, watching him undress.

Eames cocks his head, waiting.

“And I’ll tell you if it’s nice to see you, after.” Arthur adds.

Eames just laughs and takes off his shirt. He leaves it on the floor, knowing it will annoy Arthur and Arthur doesn’t say anything, knowing Eames is waiting for a response.

Eames takes his shoes off, revealing plain gray socks, and takes them off as well, tucking them inside his shoes.

When the knock from room service comes Arthur nearly runs for the door. He fixes himself a drink, finally getting his hands to steady themselves. He’s watched Eames do that with his socks a hundred times. The neatness of the gesture always amused him until Eames let slip that he did it because his father used to beat the shit out of him if he didn’t. After that Arthur tries to point out that Eames was an adult now, he could leave his socks wherever he wanted (even if Arthur preferred him not to) but habits formed like that were hard to break.

He turns round with his drink to find Eames naked. The drink goes down so silkily Arthur doesn’t even feel it. He looks down at his glass and then up at Eames again.

“Turn around.”

Eames raises his eyebrow but turns around. His back and shoulders (big and broad or slighter and svelte, it always depended on the job and the way he’s chosen to portray himself) are tanned and there are new tattoos trailing down his shoulders to his lower back. They make the original one on his shoulder, the one Arthur remembers, fade into the overall design of his skin. His hips have just the right amount of swagger in them. And then there’s his ass.

Arthur sucks in his breath at the sight of Eames’s ass. “Bend over.”

“Really?”

Arthur waits until Eames sighs under his breath and bends over so his spine curves into a beautiful arc. His ass begs for Arthur’s touch. He _wants_ to touch Eames. If you had told Arthur when he woke up this morning that there was a chance he could touch Eames tonight, he wouldn’t have believed you.

Arthur takes a sip of his drink.

“Straighten up.”

Eames does, and turns around. He doesn’t look fazed at all, which makes Arthur wonder what else other people have made him do. The idea of Eames performing sexual acts for _strangers_ for _money_ , the lewder and more sexually explicit, is both repellent and intriguing.

The front of Eames is just as attractive as the back. Arthur lets his eyes drift over him as he drinks. Only when he looks at Eames’s dick, does he think of something.

“Do you have condoms?”

“What do you take me for?” Eames goes over to his pants and pulls one out. He also has a small thing of lube which he sets on the bureau.

Arthur exhales; this is really happening.

“Get on the bed and sit back against the headboard.”

Eames does. He lets his legs sprawl out lazy and welcoming. Arthur takes the chair opposite the bed and sits where he has a good view of Eames in all his glory.

“You really want to sit all the way over there?”

“I’ll move when I’m ready.” Arthur takes a drink. “Spit on your hand and masturbate.”

Eames looks at him but he obeys, spitting right into the center of his right palm, wrapping around his cock.

“Slowly.” Arthur sits back in his chair. “Take your time.”

“What’ve you been up to, Arthur?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity.” Eames says, fingers sliding down to ease over the head and back again. One long-sliding motion, and up again, all the way completely from base to tip. Arthur watches it, well aware of the way he's holding his breath before he releases it

“Why do you care?”

Eames blinks at that like he doesn’t understand the question. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

Arthur takes another sip. “You tell me.”

Eames starts to open his mouth but Arthur just says “Slower.”

“You’re so picky, why don’t you come over here and do it yourself?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Arthur doesn’t move.

“Yeah,” Eames tilts his head back slightly. “I would.”

Arthur takes a sip. “Too bad.”

A slow, amused expression steals over Eames’s face. “Is that what this is about, Arthur?”

“What?”

“Revenge.”

“Revenge.” Arthur repeats. “To exact punishment for a wrong… do you think I think you’ve wronged me, Eames?”

“You know, that’s the first time you’ve said my name since you saw me.”

“I know.”

Eames’s hand is still working his dick. Slow, steady strokes, like he’s only teasing himself with the motions. He’s trying to get back in control; Arthur doesn’t particularly want that.

“Turn over and lie on your stomach.”

“I remember you being much better at foreplay than that.” Eames drawls. He turns over, presenting his ass to Arthur, like it’s a fucking gift, like Arthur’s lucky to even be here in the room with him.

“I remember you not knowing the meaning of the word.” Arthur rests his free hand on the left chair arm. He’s the one in control here. All he has to do is remember it and make sure Eames knows.

“Now, now,” Eames turns his head to look back at Arthur. “That’s a lie.”

“Yes, that’s a lie.” Arthur admits, and finishes his drink. He sets the glass down and stands up, unbuttoning his coat and slipping it off his shoulders.

Eames turns back to face the headboard again. “I used to dream about you in those suits.”

“Did you now…” Arthur moves closer to the bed.

“We’re working jobs, staying in hotels, everything so familiar it’s almost boring, and then you press me down on the mattress, wearing that perfect tan and black suit you used to have.”

“I still have it.” Arthur’s standing by the bed now. They never worked a job together, not officially, because Eames left. He doesn’t want to think about that now. Not with Eames naked. Eames naked is a sight to behold. He’s just lying there waiting for whatever Arthur’s about to do to him next.

“I bet you still look extremely fuckable in it.”

“That’s one description, I suppose.” Arthur says. Eames is the one who looks extremely fuckable here and he knows it.

Eames’s laughter makes his muscles ripple. The movement is beautiful. Arthur wants to run his fingertips all over those tattoos and make Eames laugh until he’s crying.

He places his hand on Eames’s lower back, feeling the warmth from his skin seep into his fingers.

“Spread your legs wider.”

“Why don’t you just give in and stick your tongue in me already?” Eames folds his arms on the pillow and rests his head on them.

“Why don’t you just shut up?” Arthur says automatically. He strokes two fingertips over one ass cheek, watching Eames’s flesh respond.

Eames spreads his legs like an invitation. Arthur slips his fingers down the crease of his ass, marveling at how appealing Eames is like this. He does want to stick his tongue in Eames’s ass, damnit.

“How many people have you let fuck you?”

“Jealous?” Eames purrs.

“Thinking about stds,” Arthur says matter-of-factly. He likes clean things, he likes his routines and he wants another drink so he doesn’t think about how much he likes Eames. Even now.

He walks away from the naked man stretched out on his stomach, with his ass ready to give Arthur whatever he wants.

His seventh drink, or his eighth. Arthur’s not sure anymore. He drinks half of it before he looks back at the bed. Eames is watching him.

“Something to say?” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Eames shakes his head. “That’s a lot of liquid courage for a fuck.”

“It’s been four years.” Arthur says before he can cut the words off. The alcohol is working but it’s also wearing down his defenses. Or maybe that’s Eames.

“Did you miss me, Arthur?” It’s teasing, but it gets under Arthur’s skin like nothing else.

Did he miss Eames? Was Eames shitting him?

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He drains the rest of his drink and pours another, getting a little sloppy with the tonic this time. Things are blurring a little around the edges; he’s definitely made the right decision.

“I asked you a question.”

“I’m not telling you about all the people I’ve slept with.” Eames sounds overly patient, which grates on Arthur’s nerves even more.

“I’m paying you for the night, remember?”

“Yeah, for my body, and you’ve barely touched me.”

Arthur adds a couple of ice cubes, letting the cold shake the fuzziness off. “Get up on your knees then, ass up, face down in the pillows.

“That sounds more like it.” Eames chuckles.

Arthur moves closer once Eames is in his position. Finally he lets himself sit on the bed behind Eames.

Eames is obscene like this and he knows it, all splayed out and waiting for it. Arthur rubs his thumb over Eames’s puckered hole, the fine hair along his ass. His sloppy annoying balls that Arthur hates he knows exactly how they’d taste in his mouth. This close, all his sensory memories are kicking in. He knows Eames’s body from head to toe, his scent, his sweat. Every last inch of Eames is as familiar to Arthur as one of his own designs.

He gets the lube out and drips just a bit on his fingertips. Smoothing them over Eames’s hole, he tests a fingertip.

“Mmm, yeah,” Eames says appreciatively. “More.”

Arthur straight up pushes two fingers into him, relentlessly forcing past the natural resistance of Eames’s muscle. Eames moans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him and it just makes Arthur move harder. He doesn’t want Eames to give in like he wants this. Eames isn’t supposed to want this. He’s not supposed to want Arthur anymore; that’s the whole point of walking away without a word. He wants to make Eames squirm and cry and beg. The night is young and the alcohol is working its magic. Arthur’s fairly certain he’ll get what he wants before the night is done.

Eames pushes back against his fingers. Arthur goes deeper, past his knuckles, stretching him with rough strokes. He finger fucks Eames until Eames’s dick is hard against his thighs and only then does Arthur pull his fingers out. Eames makes a whining noise that makes Arthur want to wrap his hands around his neck and squeeze till Eames fucking begs for his touch.

“Kneel on the carpet.”

Eames rolls off the bed and does just that. He kneels like he’s not afraid of anything, his thighs are wide-spread and his cock is right there, bold as fucking brass and bobbing up hard against his belly.

Arthur stands and reaches for his belt. He watches Eames watching him as he pulls it free from his trousers.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Eames does, still watching intently. Arthur loops the belt around his wrists and pulls the belt tight. Eames flexes his shoulders, testing. Arthur unzips his pants. Eames licks his lips, focus narrowing as Arthur draws out his dick.

“You’re not going to take your clothes off?”

“No.” Arthur fists his cock just once, making sure that Eames remembers every inch of him.

Eames sits up a little on his knees. He thinks he knows where this is going. Next Arthur reaches for his tie. He unties it in brisk easy motions, letting it spiral down in gold and black curls.

“Come here.”

Eames shuffles over to him on his knees. He looks up at Arthur.

Eames on his knees is a dream come true, a dream that Arthur has had more times than he can count. He can’t even remember the last time Eames sucked him off.

“It’s always tempting to gag you.” Arthur says, looking down into those eyes that he’s dreamed about for the last four years. “But after all, I’ve got other uses for that mouth.” He wraps the tie around Eames’s eyes in one secure motion and ties it tight.

Now this is good.

Arthur reaches for his phone and snaps a few quick shots of Eames naked and bound and blindfolded and hard. There are several parties that Arthur knows would be interested, should he choose to share. For now he sets his phone down on the bureau and looks down at Eames again.

Eames shifts slightly on his knees. “You always were good at making me wait, weren’t you, Arthur?” His voice drifts close to purring again.

“What else was I was good at?” He brushes the tip of his cock over Eames’s lips and waits.

“Your designs were miles ahead of everyone else’s.”

Arthur blinks. He hadn’t actually expected Eames to answer that, and especially not with anything dream related.

“And the way you built levels.” Eames trails off, shaking his head a little.

“I thought I didn’t have enough scope.” Arthur says, bitterness coating the words, in spite of himself.

“You just needed to explore all the possibilities.” Eames starts again, like this is something he’s actually put some thought into. That he’s considered Arthur and his dream work more than once since he left.

This isn’t how Arthur expected this conversation to go.

He leans forward, running his fingers over Eames’s lips and obediently, Eames opens his mouth. There’s an acceptance to the way that his lips part, waiting. This is more what Arthur wants, but not quite. He's glad he put the blindfold on. He can keep his poker face on for days straight. He can pretend none of this is having the slightest effect on him. But the closest he’s come to losing that is having Eames’s lips wrapped around his dick.

He lets himself cup the back of Eames’s head while Eames sucks him, staring up at the ceiling. He’s so tired but not nearly ready for sleep. He pulls out before Eames can get him to surrender.

Eames makes a little whimper in his throat, but Arthur steps back. He needs another drink. He needs a moment to breathe. He needs…

Arthur stands on the carpet, rubbing at his eyes. He could just let this go. He could tell Eames to put on his clothes and get out. Maybe it doesn’t really matter anymore.

He looks back at Eames, still kneeling there. Still waiting. Something cold and hard settles pervasively in Arthur’s stomach.

He grips Eames’s jaw, forcing his head up. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want.” Eames says obstinately.

Arthur grabs his hair with his other hand, tightening his grip and jerking Eames’s head back so far Arthur can see the veins stark along his neck.

“Beg.”

“I want your cock.” Eames says, forming the words slow and deliberate, making Arthur watch his lips. “I want your cock back now.”

Arthur's fingers drift up along Eames’s jaw to trace his lips. Eames leans forward, kissing his fingers.

Arthur leans down until his mouth is only inches away from Eames’s. “Too bad.” He pulls away, leaving Eames wobbling on his knees, trying to steady himself.

“Arthur. Arthur, come on. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To make me beg? I’m begging. Come on.”

Arthur just sinks down in the chair, leaning back, chest heaving with restraint. Eames’s kneeling in front of him, gasping. Even now Eames is still hard. Arthur’s not even surprised by this. Of course Eames is still hard.

“Arthur.” Eames breathes, the name soft and almost pleading on his lips.

Arthur sticks out a shoe between Eames’s legs, watches Eames react as his dick comes into contact with it.

“Come on, Eames. I know you want it.”

Eames turns his head up towards him, still blindfolded. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You want to come? Go on.” Arthur nudges his dick. “Get yourself off.” He wants Eames to remember who’s paying who here.

Eames licks his lips. “But you want to fuck me.”

Eames is right. Why is Eames always right?

Arthur jerks the tie down to hang around Eames’s neck. Eames’s eyes are bright with anticipation, challenging Arthur to prove him wrong. The trouble is Arthur can’t do that.

“You’re right,” Arthur says. “I do want to fuck you.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“Get up.” Arthur pulls Eames up, shoving at the bed. Eames stumbles backwards.

Arthur gets his clothes off, grabs the condom as he settles on the bed beside Eames. He pushes Eames down by the nape of his neck, burying his face in the sheets.

“Come on, Arthur, come on.” Eames urges him.

He sinks into Eames, gasping at the sensation. _This oh, this, Eames, four fucking years_. Arthur thrusts hard making Eames feel it. The room blurs. There’s just his body and Eames and it’s not enough. He wants….

He stops. He needs more than this.

“Don’t stop.” Eames groans.

“Hold on.” Arthur unties the belt and drops it on the floor.

Eames looks back at him over his shoulder and then Arthur looks up. Their eyes meet and Arthur’s whole body trembles, seeing the tenderness in Eames’s eyes.

“Arthur.” Eames says, reaching for him.

He turns over and pulls Arthur against him as Arthur thrusts inside him once more. They’re moving, just bodies in time with each other. How has Arthur survived the last four years without this, without Eames? Without time between them?

“Arthur.” Eames keeps murmuring his name. He’s always enjoyed saying Arthur’s name. Arthur likes his name too, he’s always liked his name, but he likes it best and he hates it the most when Eames is saying it like this. Eames’s hands slide up his hips, drawing him closer. Arthur keeps trying to move faster, to finish and Eames persistently draws it out, making it last. And finally, at last, Arthur surrenders.

He slows his pace, watching the way Eames’s chest moves, the way their hips fit together. The patterns on his chest and the scruff on his jaw. There’s a scar somewhere underneath all those tattoos but Arthur doesn’t have to look for it to know this is real. Eames is here; Arthur can feel his heart beating against him.

“Arthur.” Eames pushes himself up as Arthur keeps moving. His chest presses tight into Arthur’s as he leans in, his mouth tasting and pursuing and inviting.

Arthur grasps the back of his head, pulling him closer and Eames makes that soft chuckling rasp he does when he’s particularly happy. Arthur’s missed that sound so much.

“I’m gonna…” Arthur says, breathless and Eames just holds him closer. Arthur’s hips jerk and _thrust_ and he sinks his teeth into Eames’s shoulder, biting hard into the bold inked design as he comes.

Eames growls, in pain, in delight, with pleasure, with regret. Arthur doesn’t even care which it is. His chest is heaving and his breath comes in static gasps. Being held like this, by Eames, when he comes, is intoxicating and it only lasts a heartbeat before Arthur pulls away. If it goes on any longer, he’d want it to last forever. Forever doesn’t work with Eames and him.

He eases off the condom and drops it in the trash, sitting there on the side of bed.

Eames just follows and nuzzles into his shoulder. His arm is draped around Arthur’s shoulder, his mouth on Arthur’s hair.

“I’ve missed you, darling.”

The busy world within Arthur’s brain relaxes. The traffic slows and there’s a soft pattering of rain on the sidewalk. He’s warm and the air is clear around him. He could move mountains with his fingertips, he could design whole cities without blinking. He can do that anyway, but Eames with that one specific little word undoes him, and builds him up again.

They lie back down and Eames just settles beside him like the last four years never happened at all. Arthur lets his limbs rest against the bed. He can feel Eames’s warmth all up and down his body. His body is slipping into lassitude and he thinks that he will just lie here besides Eames, for a little while longer before the night ends.

 

He’d never meant to fall asleep next to Eames. Never again.

Arthur slips out of bed and stands there, gazing at the sleeping man. In sleep Eames is entirely still himself, one arm thrown above his head, face half buried in the pillows. He looks beautiful like this. Arthur lets himself acknowledge that, and then he doesn’t let himself waste any more time.

Eames stirs and mumbles something. When he blinks and takes in the fact that Arthur is already showered and dressed, he opens his eyes further. “You’re up early.”

“It’s after nine.” Arthur takes another sip of coffee. “And I have a meeting at ten so you have to go.”

“I know.” Eames murmurs into the pillow...................................

“I mean it, Eames.” None of this was part of the plan and now in the light of day Arthur simply wants to put it all behind him. His head aches slightly. He needs coffee. He needs Eames to go.

“Why?”

“I told you. I have a meeting.”

“And I said I know.” Eames shoves a pillow behind his head and rolls over to sit up. “It’s with me.”

“What?” Arthur says stupidly.

“Your ten o’clock meeting is with me.” Eames yawns, scratching at his head.

“That’s not possible.”

Eames sighs. “You’re meeting with a contact to discuss the set-up of the Williams job, correct? You want to know the outline and the details, and most specifically, the team members you’ll be working with because you’re very particular about who you work with these days, aren’t you?”

“How do you know all that?”

“I told you. The meeting.”

“Stop saying that,” Arthur grinds out. This isn’t happening. “For fuck’s sake, why?”

“Because I’m still in the dream business. Same as you. And I also only work with the best.”

“You dropped out of the program. You didn’t even have the guts to say goodbye.”

Eames gets up. He’s naked as he faces Arthur. There’s something vulnerable and beautiful and occasionally somewhat ridiculous about nudity in Arthur’s opinion, but Eames is none of these in this moment. He’s purely in retaliation mode here, his entire body tensed and ready.

“Two quarters into the program I was recruited by one of the army deep-program developers. He liked my work and he wanted to extend my original training framework. The terms of that included leaving the official program and everyone else in the dark.”

“You chose that…” _Over me._ Even Arthur can’t finish saying that sentence out loud. He’s not that pathetic yet, but he’s so fucking close.

“I chose dreams.” Eames comes forward, his eyes dark and angry as he look at Arthur. “Because just like you, Arthur, I loved what we were doing, and I wanted to be the very best at it, and I knew that was how to achieve it.”

“Get out.” Arthur’s shaking inwardly but his hand is perfectly composed as he takes another sip of coffee.

Eames gazes at him for a moment. Then he starts throwing his clothes on. “I’ll be at the diner down the street when you’re ready to talk.”

Arthur has nothing to say to that. He listens to the door closing behind Eames before he sinks down beside the bed, burying his head in his hands.

 * * *

Arthur sits on the floor, gazing at the wall. He should call someone. He should do something. He can’t do any of that. He thinks about all the things Eames said, how this fits into the picture he had of the past. It doesn’t fit, which means he has to rearrange everything and he can’t do that until he knows all the facts.

And to get all the facts, he has to speak with Eames again.

 * * * 

Eames is sitting in a corner booth with a cup of coffee and a napkin full of doodles.

Arthur slides into the booth across from him. Eames looks disheveled and weary, but now Arthur wants to know much of that is real and how much is Eames’s intention. He’s no longer sure. He still doesn’t quite believe what Eames has told him.

“The person I have a meeting with doesn’t work with the government.” Arthur feels slow. He blames it on the sex, the alcohol, Eames. He didn’t see this coming; how could he not have seen this?

“Times change.” Eames pours sugar into his coffee.

“So all this time you’ve been…working?” Wouldn’t he have heard of him? Arthur’s still getting known in the business, but he’s studied the dreamwork of the people who’re making names for themselves. He’s never heard of Eames.

“Our lives run parallel.” Eames sketches on the napkin without looking up. “You got out of the official program around the same time I left the deep program.” His pencil has a blurred profile of a man sitting at a café on a Parisian street, buildings falling away in the background.

Arthur drinks his own coffee, black and strong. He’s mesmerized by the pencil scratches, same as he’s jealous of Eames’s talent. How is any of this possible? 

"That’s good." 

Eames adds a tiny smudge of smoky clouds in the distance and sets it aside. He looks at Arthur over his coffee. “You thought I just left, didn’t you? Dropped out of the program and just…” He makes an expansive gesture with his hand. “Gave it all up?”

“That’s what they said.” Arthur says. “I asked.” He admits it before Eames can guess.

“That’s what they wanted you to think.” Eames adds another spoonful of sugar and stirs, tapping the spoon against the side of the cup. “It was part of the deal. I had the aptitude for the subterranean program they wanted to run, but it meant leaving everything else, everyone else, behind.”

He looks directly at Arthur who’s caught in the crossfire of his eyes. How can Eames look at him with so much regret when it was his choice after all? He made that decision to go with the team, and Arthur can’t blame him. When it comes down to it, he would have made the same decision had it been offered to him.

“And now you’re wondering why they didn’t want you.” Eames drawls the words like he couldn’t care less.

"I have an idea.” Arthur said. No doubt it’s probably similar to the reason why at the end of the program he had left. _You have vision and possibilities, Arthur, but you lack passion and scope._ He’d studied more since then, opened his eyes to all the possibilities, made himself create and study and design, forced himself to expand beyond what he thought he was capable of.

He sips his coffee. “So now you’re a freelancer.”

“Same as you.” Eames leans back in his chair. “I told you our lives were parallel.”

“What made you leave? After all that secrecy and effort?”

“I didn’t like how the army wanted to use it once they had trained us. The work kept getting more and more interesting but in the end they just wanted to use it as a weapon. And there was so much _more_ you could do.” Eames had leaned forward in his intense, hands on the table. “So I skipped out and I’ve been working for myself ever since.”

Arthur’s been sitting there, putting all the pieces together, listening to Eames explain away the last four years and Eames has carefully left out one detail.

“And last night? What was that about?”

A smile flits about Eames’s mouth. “I was working for Louis when he got your message. He said he’d send a representative. I’m that representative.”

“You know what I mean.”

Eames leans in still further, conspiratorially. “Did you expect me to _not_ want to fuck you after four years?”

Arthur’s not sure what he expected. “So you’re trying to say you wouldn’t have just gone with anyone who was in that bar?”

“It wasn’t just anyone. It was you.” Eames sounds patient, like he’s trying to explain something so simple and Arthur should just understand.

So last night was an anomaly; Arthur can accept that. “What now?”

Eames sits back. “Now we can discuss the details of the job and then-”

“You actually expect me to work with you?”

Eames’s eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I’m fucking good at what I do, Arthur.”

“You’re good at fucking.” Arthur says coolly. “I know that much.”

Eames chews on his lip. “I suppose I should have expected that.” He leans forward again.

“Give me one reason why I should work with you?” Arthur reaches for his coffee.

“Ask anyone.” Eames takes a final sip of coffee. “They’ll tell you to work with me.” He takes the napkin he was sketching on and writes a number on it. “If you decide you want the job, you can reach me here.”

“And If I don’t?”

“Then call and I’ll tell Louis and he’ll get someone else.” Eames doesn’t seem worried about the outcome at all. He pushes the napkin across the table towards Arthur.

Arthur reaches out to take it and Eames clasps his hand, his thumb stroking over his inner wrist and down his palm. _I’ve missed you, darling._

Arthur pulls his hand back. He takes the napkin and looks at it. Then he leans in, close enough that he could kiss Eames. “With everything I know about you, what makes you think I won’t just toss this in the trash where it belongs?”

“Because you never truly knew me.” Eames’s face has a cool hard look to it that Arthur had never seen before. “So stop pretending you were even capable of ever missing me, Arthur.”

Arthur catches himself before he flinches, but just barely. He shoves the napkin in his pocket and walks out, before Louis can walk out again.

  


He revises everything filed away in his brain under Eames.

Eames: 36, bisexual, recruited into the army’s central dream organization program at age 28, finished the requirements at 29, and entered the program.

From the first time Arthur had met his eyes across the room, he’d known they were…were what? Cliched phrases like _destined_ and _meant to be_ sprang to mind, but Arthur didn’t believe in destiny.

He’d gone through the required course in half the time so he’d been ahead of Eames in the program. They had been assigned to work together and soon after that they had moved into an apartment together because Arthur had had a spare room with a spare mattress.

“So there’s no frame.” He’d told Eames when Eames moved in.

“That’s okay.” Eames said. “I’m used to creating whatever I need.”

At the time Arthur had found that answer both attractive and appalling. Now he looks at it in a new light.

The first time they had fucked had been on that mattress. Eames had been working on a project and called Arthur in to look at something. Arthur had squatted down beside him and somewhere in there they’d wound up on the mattress with Eames pulling his shirt up and mouthing his way down Arthur’s stomach. Arthur still remembers the feel of his lips, the soft breath of Eames on his skin.

 *  *  *

Arthur goes back to his hotel room and slips the shoes off before stretching out on the bed. He thinks about having a drink. How the alcohol would ease into his system and slowly make everything seem slightly less important.

The telephone rings and he turns his head sideways, looking at it. He lets it go until the tenth ring before he picks it up.

“Have a drink with me.”

“I haven’t decided anything yet.”

“I know that, Arthur.” Eames says. “I have something to show you. Have a drink with me.”

Arthur stays silent.

“I’ll be in the hotel bar.” Eames hangs up.

Arthur turns over and presses his face into a pillow.

 *  *  *

He calls Cobb. Over all the people he’s worked with since he left the army, Cobb’s the one Arthur prefers to work with. Businesslike, professional, Cobb knows his stuff and gets his work done. He’s one of the best. He would know about Eames if there was anything to know.

So the ‘oh yeah, I’ve heard of him,’ he gets in response is slightly disheartening. Arthur doesn’t want Eames to be known. He wants this whole mess to be a farce, the way it feels to him.

“What about him?”

“Would you recommend him?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“What’s this about, Arthur?”

“I just hadn’t heard of him, didn’t really like his manner.”

“You didn’t like his manner?” Cobb sounds amused. “He’s not trying to take your niece out without a chaperone, Arthur. Is his manner really important?”

Arthur stares out the window without saying anything.

“Do you want to hear he’s a reliable team worker? Because he is. He works well with people and he’s good, Arthur. It’s still early, granted, but give it a year or so and I bet he’ll be known as one of the best forgers in the business.”

That rankles almost as much as it almost impresses Arthur.

“You’d work with him?”

“I would. I have.”

That’s a good recommendation.

“What do you have against him, Arthur?”

“Nothing.” Arthur says. “I just don’t like working with people I haven’t heard of.”

“Actually, I’m a little surprised, you two haven’t run into each other before. The last time I talked to Eames about a job he was on board and then pulled out at the last moment.”

“What job was that?”

“The Steinberg.”

Arthur had worked that job. “Did he pull out after he knew who else was on the team?”

There was a short silence as Cobb puts two and two together. “Arthur, what’s going on between you two?”

“Nothing.” Arthur lies.

He hangs up and goes back to staring out the window. What is there to be gained by working with Eames again? Nothing.

Except he’s curious. Except he wants to.

All this time, he’d thought Eames had gotten bored with the dreamwork, with him, and now he know it was the opposite all along. It shouldn’t make him more interested in Eames, but it does. It shouldn’t make Eames more appealing, but it does. Maybe it shouldn’t make Arthur even angrier that he understands why Eames did it now, but it most certainly does that too.

Arthur hates what he’s going to do, but he’s going to do it anyway. He just needs to separate his anger and bitterness at Eames for leaving without a word and reconcile that with the concept of this Eames.

 *    *    * 

Eames is once again sitting at a corner booth with a glass of wine in front of him and a bottle. Arthur watches him before he crosses the room and takes a seat.

“Good evening, Arthur.”

“Good evening, Eames.”

Eames actually smiles at that. “What’ll you have?”

Arthur looks at the bottle. “That’ll do.”

The waiter brings another glass and Eames pours.

Arthur takes a sip of wine. “You had something to show me?”

“Is that all you have to say?”

Arthur shrugs and looks at his wine. “You took the mattress I loaned you.” It’s a trivial statement in many respects.

“Loaned is one word for that.” Eames takes a sip of his own wine. “Besides, you weren’t going to use it.”

“How do you know?”

Eames’s eyes crinkle. “How long did it take you to fuck someone else?”

“None of your business.” Arthur takes another sip. He’d have to drink a lot more to get drunk on wine. It takes so long. Who has the patience for this?

“Three months? Six?” Eames searches Arthur’s face and realizes. “A whole year.”

“Just shut up.”

“And then you went for anyone who wanted in your pants.”

“I told you. Shut up.” It’s not fair that Eames knows him so well and Arthur apparently doesn’t have a clue about him in return. Arthur’s head still aches. He swallows his wine and stands.

“Now, Arthur.”

“I’ll do the job with you.” Arthur says after a moment.

Eames looks taken aback briefly. “You will?”

“That’s what I said.” Now that he’s made up his mind to do this, he doesn’t want to keep going over the matter with Eames.

“Very well.” Eames nods. “And the thing I wanted to show you…”

“I have no interest in it.”

“Arthur,” Eames gets to his feet as well. “Just let me.”

“I’ll work with you, Eames. That doesn’t mean I have to let you do anything.” He starts to walk away from the table without looking back.

“Tomorrow, then?” Eames calls after him.

Arthur pauses. “Tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Eames.” Arthur says curtly and walks away before Eames can say anything else.

 *  *  *

It’s a perfectly ordinary job. Unlikely to get noticed by anyone who’d be on the lookout, which makes it safe, which makes it a good job. Arthur probably would have taken it even if Eames hadn’t been involved.

But Eames is involved. Eames is still working in the dream trade.

Eames who let Arthur take him back to his hotel room and fuck him. Arthur can’t get over that. He’s curious as to what Eames wanted to show him, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see it. It’s probably something that Eames thinks excuses what he did. Nothing excuses what he did.

 *   *   * 

During the job Eames keeps his distance. They might as well have been strangers. At least it gives Arthur a chance to observe Eames at work. He’d thought he could see for himself what all the fuss was about, and if it’s true, if Eames really is as good as people say, well…

Then maybe they’d work together in the future at some point. That’s as far as Arthur lets himself go. There’s nothing further to plan for, nothing to hope for. He accepts that the world of dreamwork is still too small for them not to encounter each other at least once in a while. Not unless Eames keeps intentionally avoiding him. And maybe he would after this.

 *  *  * 

The thing is… Eames is as good as Cobb had said. None of it had been exaggeration. He simply is that good. It shows in the little things, from the way he transforms himself into the mark’s younger brother, from the way he moves effortlessly through the framework of the dream.

Louis had designed it. It’s standard work that Arthur can’t find any fault with. Looking at Louis’s job though he could see what his trainers had meant when they critiqued his work. It was good, but you could tell it was a dream.

Arthur has come further than that now. He knows he has, but working in Louis’s dream makes him think what it would be like to bring Eames into a dream of his own making. It’s a thought he’s had occasionally over the years, but never let himself think about in any great detail.

Now it’s all he can think about. Knowing Eames didn’t leave, but only went deeper into dreamwork makes Arthur want all the more to show him what he’s learned over the years.

And what did Eames want to show him anyway?

The thought keeps Arthur awake at night, long after he should be asleep.

 *  * *

When the job is winding down (it was only two weeks after all) Arthur finds himself realizing this is the last time he’s going to see Eames.

He’s gotten used to seeing Eames again, or rather, gotten used to the jolt in his stomach when he walks into the room and sees Eames at the corner table with a cup of coffee and a notebook. Eames is real; Arthur didn’t dream him. And maybe, just maybe…

 *  *  *

The night they’re packing up, Arthur doesn’t dawdle. There’s no point. If Eames had still wanted to say something, he would have.

He collects his gear and reaches for his jacket.

When he looks up, he sees Eames leaning against his desk, watching him.

Arthur just looks at him and Eames hesitates, and then he comes over.

His shirt is blue and yellow, and he smells like coffee. Arthur doesn’t think about kissing him goodbye. Eames is standing too close, gazing at him with undisguised yearning. It makes Arthur’s gut clench.

“Arthur.” Eames’s voice is a murmur of persuasion. “Let me show you. Please.”

Arthur doesn’t have to do this. He can simply walk away. But like the night in the hotel bar when he first spotted Eames, he can’t resist.

“All right.”

Eames stares at him like he can’t believe Arthur agreed to it. “I can be at your hotel in half an  hour.”

“Very well.” Arthur says. He collects his bag and goes, hope and fear twisting tightly together within him.

 *  *  *

In exactly thirty minutes there’s a rap at Arthur’s hotel door.

Arthur opens it to find Eames carrying a slim silver case and whistling under his breath.

Eames gives him an appreciative look when he comes in, and Arthur half-glances down to check over his blue and white striped linen shirt and black trousers before he remembers that he’s not supposed to care anymore what Eames likes.

“Why here?” He’d originally thought they’d meet in the bar or somewhere else. Now that he thinks about it he doesn’t want to be in a hotel room with Eames again. He just wants this to happen, no matter where they are.

“I need a room.” Eames looks around thoughtfully.

“Why don’t we use yours?”

“Because I don’t have one. I checked out earlier.” Eames sets down the case. “You already knew that, Arthur.”

“I thought I didn’t know anything about you as it turned out.”

“Don’t take it so personal, Arthur.” Eames’s voice isn’t unkind, which makes it worse. It’s fucking personal.

“It is personal.” Arthur looks at the case. “What did you want to show me?”

“Arthur.”

“What?”

Eames sets the case down on the table. “I want to take you into a dream I created.”

Arthur hesitates, but his curiosity gets the better of him. “Why?”

“Because I want to show it to you.” Eames looks at him. “Please, Arthur?”

This feels like a trap. Arthur still hesitates. Why would Eames want to show _him_ anything at this point? He still left after all, even if Arthur understands why he did it. But Eames is _here_. He wants to work with Arthur. He went through with that that night. What was that about?

He still wants to know and he’s never going to understand Eames.

He watches Eames open the case in silence.

“One dream, just to show you everything and if you don’t want to work with me after that, I’ll make sure we don’t cross paths again. All right?"

Eames holds out the needle.

To see what Eames has created is beyond tempting, and maybe, just maybe, if he does this, Arthur can leave this all behind.

“All right.”

They face each other, Arthur takes the chair and Eames offers the needle again. Arthur licks his lips, wanting to see if Eames will say something else. But Eames doesn’t, simply waiting for Arthur to insert the needle. So he does.

*  *  *

Arhur’s standing in a long gray hallway. It’s familiar. He knows this place. It’s the hallway of their building they lived in when they were attending the program, back when they were sharing an apartment.

He walks down the hallway to the door he knows is at the end. 3C. Arthur takes a breath and opens the door.

Everything is the same. He could be back there right now, like Eames never left. Arthur’s chest tightens. Is that what this is all about?

He walks past the coffeepot that’s half full, the aroma filling the room with the full rich scent, abandoned mug sitting beside the stack of papers and designs covering the kitchen table. If he opens the fridge, he knows exactly what he will find. A carton of milk along with eggs, cheese, and meat, waiting for some extravagant recipe that Eames decides on at one AM. Eames cooks when the world is rosy and everything is going the way he wants. He didn’t cook at all the week before he left. Arthur had assumed he was dealing with the same difficulties in the program that he was, and ordered takeout and didn’t think any more about it.

He goes to the door of Eames’s room and stops there in the doorway.

Eames got a desk two weeks after he moved in, but he had never bothered to get a bed frame. The mattress took up a good portion of the small room, covered with tousled sheets and a soft, fluffy duvet that made you sink into it and never want to get up.

Eames is bent over his desk, working away.

“Eames.”

Eames turns around and smiles at him. “Hello, Arthur.”

It’s Eames exactly how he looked back then; it’s Eames now, careful and composed. His mouth still smiles the same when he smiles at Arthur. The Eames blur together, it’s just one, it’s all of them and Arthur knows his heart is broken all over again.

“What’re you working on?” Arthur says.

“The project. You know.” Eames leaves his notebook open, pencil wedged between two pages and gets up. “I could use a break though.”

He tilts his head down, kissing Arthur very softly on the mouth.

“Why are we doing this?” Arthur murmurs against his lips. “What’s the point, Eames?”

“You think I didn’t regret it. Every day being away from you, every day not telling you. That it was easy, leaving you.” Eames slides his hands down Arthur’s shoulders to his hips, drawing him over to the mattress. “I built this dream because I missed you so much I couldn’t sleep. Every night I wondered where you were, whether I’d see you again. What it would take for you to forgive me.”

Arthur swallows tightly. The pain channels through his body, filling his veins. “I know why you did it. I understand.”

“I know you do.” Eames whispers. He kisses Arthur’s cheek, pulling him down on the mattress. “I know you understand. And that’s why I want.” His hand cups Arthur’s cheek as he kisses his mouth. “I want us to be together, Arthur. In dreams, in life.”

The details in the room are incredible. Arthur knows good dreamwork and like Cobb said Eames is good. The warmth in the room, the scent of the coffee trailing in from the kitchen. The precise feeling of the mattress under his body as Eames kisses his thighs.

He spent so much time in this room; it had been devastating when Eames left it empty. It was in this room that Arthur truly explored his boundaries within, where he trusted, and where Eames broke his heart.

He shudders at the realization.

“Arthur?”

“Why are you doing this?” Arthur stares up at him. “Why, Eames?”

Eames gazes down at him. “You can’t see it.”

“Just tell me.”

“Arthur, I built this dream for you.”

Arthur’s heart stops. At least that’s what it feels like. He can’t breathe.

Eames kisses Arthur’s throat, working his shirt open. Arthur’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He knows this view; he knows the feel of this so well.

“Why now? Why did it take so long?”

“You always did say I was a coward.” Eames presses a kiss to his chest and gazes at him. “I was working up the courage.”

Arthur opens his mouth and then Eames slides down his belly to take his dick in his mouth.

Arthur arches up, watching his dick slide in and between Eames’s lips.

The rushing sound in his ears is so strong, he can barely make out the words. They sound distantly like… _“Arthur, I love you.”_

 *  *  *

Arthur comes back to the surface with a gasp. He rips the needle out of his wrist, staring at it like it burned him.

“Arthur.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Arthur whispers. “Why did you take me back there, Eames?”

Eames kneels beside his chair. “I thought it was necessary to get you to listen. I thought it was the one place you’d actually hear what I had to say.”

“How can I trust you now?” Arthur bites out. “How am I supposed to fucking trust you?”

“I just showed you that I’ve been fucking _pining_ over you for the last four years, that what I really wanted all along…” Eames breaks off, clasping his hands on his knees. “But if you can’t see that….then you really do lack fucking scope.”

He grabs the case and snaps it shut.

The motion has a finality to it that clears Arthur’s head.

Eames loves him.

“You think you know me.” Eames leans back in. “You have no idea. Four years, Arthur, and you spent those wasting your potential, when you could have been-”

Arthur’s mouth thins, he goes white with anger. Eames doesn’t know a fucking thing. “Then why are you even here?”

Eames stops. “Because I…”

“Why?” Arthur whispers.

“Because I needed you to know how I felt.” Eames’s eyes are bright with pain.

“You had to create a dream so you could tell me you loved me?” Arthur’s daring him to say it. He can say it, even if Eames can’t.

“It’s not so easy telling you in person, darling.”

“Why?”

“Have you looked in the mirror?” Eames’s smile is only half serious. “You’re perfectly controlled and reserved and you don’t like you ever missed anyone, let alone me.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Arthur says.

“Are you saying you miss me, Arthur?”

“Are you saying you love me, Eames?”

Eames cups his face, his fingers soft on Arthur’s cheek. “If you believe one thing, believe that.” His lips press against Arthur’s, the words passing from his lips to Arthur’s. “I love you in the future and the past, and all the days in-between.”

Arthur rests his head against Eames. “I believe you, Eames.”

“That’s good, darling.” Eames breathes, lips kissing his hair. “That’s good.”

Arthur stiffens in his embrace. “You said I don’t know you.”

Eames has the grace to look slightly apologetic. “I wanted you to guess what happened. I hated the thought of you not knowing. But, Arthur…we didn’t know each other fully back then. Neither of us did.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done in the last four years either.” Arthur tells him.

“I know you’ve been safe in choosing jobs.” Eames shoots back. “I know you’re not doing what you’re capable of.”

“You don’t know what I’m fucking capable of.” Arthur whispers.

It’s true. They didn’t know each other as well as they could have. It doesn’t have to stay that way though.

“Eames.” He reaches out to clasps Eames’s wrist, holding on to him long enough so that Eames will actually listen. “All right, I didn’t know you back then. Not really, not like I thought I did. Not like I wanted to. Not like I want to.”  He lets the present tense fill the distance between them.

Eames’s mouth softens in spite of himself. “Arthur.”

“I missed you.” Arthur whispers. This is the thing he’s found it so hard to admit. Letting that out means letting Eames in, and it would be so easy for Eames to hurt him again.

“I missed you too.” Eames whispers back. He runs his hands up Arthur’s arms and clasps his face tenderly.

“Just….” Arthur takes a deep breath, thinking over what he’s about to say, what he’s about to ask. “Was it worth it?”

Eames draws back, just a fraction. His hand is still touching Arthur’s face, his eyes searching Arthur’s eyes.

“Yes.” Eames says at last.

“Good.” Arthur says.

Eames stares at him in surprise.

“I’d hate to think the last four years were fucking terrible for no reason.” Arthur tells him.

Eames’s chuckle slips out of him as he draws Arthur in for another kiss.


End file.
